Part 30 (1/2)

”Do you suppose the devil is in Mr. Jones?” Walton asked.

”Well, if we were required to dispose of every man who ever made a sport of, ah, sporting with a number of pretty young women, the world would be a duller and a much emptier place,” Athelstan Helms said judiciously. ”Indeed, given the Prince of Wales' predilections, even the succession might be jeopardized. Murder, however, is a far more serious business, whether motivated by religious zeal or some reason considerably more secular.”

”What would you say if the Preacher appeared on our door-step proclaiming his innocence?” Dr. Walton asked.

”At this hour of the evening? I do believe I'd say, 'Fascinating, old chap. Do you suppose you could elaborate at breakfast tomorrow?'”

The good doctor pulled his watch from a waistcoat pocket. ”It is is late, isn't it? And I know I didn't get much sleep on that wretched train last night. You, though . . . Sometimes I think you are powered by steel springs and steam, not flesh and blood.” late, isn't it? And I know I didn't get much sleep on that wretched train last night. You, though . . . Sometimes I think you are powered by steel springs and steam, not flesh and blood.”

”A misapprehension, I a.s.sure you. I have never cared for the taste of coal,” Helms said gravely.

”Er-I suppose not,” Walton said. ”Shall we knit up the raveled sleeve of care, then?”

”A capital notion,” the detective replied. ”And while we're about it, we should also sleep.” Walton started to say something in response to that, then seemed to give it up as a bad job. Whether that had been his particular friend's intention did not appear to cross his mind, which, under the circ.u.mstances, might have been just as well.

A reasonably restful night, a hearty breakfast, and strong coffee might have put some distance between the Englishmen and Benjamin Morris' murder-had the waiter in the dining room not seated them at the table where they'd spoken with him at supper. Dr. Walton kept looking around as if expecting the attorney to walk in again. Barring an unantic.i.p.ated Judgment Trump, that seemed unlikely.

”How do you suppose we could reach the Preacher now?” Walton asked. ”He surely won't be at that House any more.”

”I'll inquire at the closest House of Universal Devotion,” Helms answered. ”Whether unofficially and informally or not, the preacher there should be able to reach him.”

Before the detective and his companion could leave the hotel, a policeman handed Helms an envelope. ”The post-mortem on Mr. Morris, sir,” he said.

”I thank you.” Athelstan Helms broke the seal on the envelope. ”Let's see. . . . Two jacketed slugs through the heart, and another through the right lung. Death by rapid exsanguination.”

”Rapid? Upon my word, yes! I should say so!” Dr. Walton shook his head. ”With wounds like those, he'd go down like Bob's your uncle. With two in the heart and one in the lung, an elephant would.”

”Jacketed bullets . . .” Helms turned as if to ask something of the policeman who'd brought the report, but that worthy had already departed.

”Even so, Helms,” Walton said. ”Granted, they don't mushroom like your ordinary slug of soft lead, but they'll do the job more than well enough, especially in vital spots like that. And they foul the bore much less than a soft slug would.”

”I am not ignorant of the advantages,” Helms said with a touch of asperity. ”I merely wished to enquire . . . Well, never mind.” He gathered himself and set his cap on his head. ”To the House of Universal Devotion.”

The preacher looked at Helms and Walton in something approaching astonishment. ”How extraordinary!” he said. ”In the past half hour, I've heard from the Preacher, the police, and now you gentlemen.”

”What did the Preacher want?” Helms asked.

”Why, I didn't see him. But I have a message from him to you if you came to call.”

”And the police?” Walton inquired.

”They wanted to know if I'd heard from the Preacher.” The young man in charge of the local House sniffed. ”I denied it, of course. None of their business.”

”They might have roughed you up a bit,” Walton said. They might have done a good deal worse than that. Whatever one thought of the House of Universal Devotion's theology, the loyalty it evoked could not be ignored.

This particular preacher was thin and pale, certainly none too prepossessing. Nevertheless, when he gathered himself and said, ”The tree of faith is nourished by the blood of martyrs, which is its natural manure,” he made the good doctor believe him.

”And the message from the Preacher was. . . ?” Athelstan Helms prompted.

”That he is innocent in every particular of this latest horrific crime. That it is but another example of the sort of thing of which he spoke to you in person-you will know what that means, no doubt. That an investigation is bound to establish the facts. That those facts, once established, will rock not only Atlantis but the world.”

”He doesn't think small!” Walton exclaimed. ”Not half, he doesn't.”

”If he thought small, he would not have achieved the success that has already been his,” Helms said, and then, to the preacher, ”Do you know his current whereabouts?”

”No, sir. What I don't know, they can't interrogate out of me, like. And I never saw the fellow who gave me the message before, either. But it's a true message, isn't it?”

”I believe so, yes,” Helms replied.

”I believe the Preacher would make a first-rate spymaster had he chosen to try his hand at that instead of founding a religion,” Dr. Walton said. ”He has the principles down pat.” believe the Preacher would make a first-rate spymaster had he chosen to try his hand at that instead of founding a religion,” Dr. Walton said. ”He has the principles down pat.”

”Do you believe him?” the young preacher asked anxiously.

”Well, that remains to be seen,” Helms said. ”Such a.s.sertions as he has made are all the better for proof, but I can see how he is in a poor position to offer any. My investigations continue, and in the end, I trust, they will be crowned with success.”

”They commonly are,” Walton added with more than a hint of smugness.

Athelstan Helms allowed himself the barest hint of a smile. ”Those who fail are seldom chronicled-the mobile vulgus mobile vulgus clamors after success, and nothing less will do. A pity, that, when failure so often proves more instructive.” clamors after success, and nothing less will do. A pity, that, when failure so often proves more instructive.”

”My failure to publish accounts of your failures has been more instructive than I wish it were,” Walton said feelingly.

”Let us hope that will not be the case here, then,” Helms said. ”Onward!-the plot thickens.”

Dr. Walton was not particularly surprised to discover Sergeant Karpinski standing on the sidewalk outside the House of Universal Devotion. ”We went in there, too,” Karpinski said. ”We didn't find anything worth knowing. You?”

”Our investigation continues.” Helms' voice was bland. ”When we have conclusions to impart, you may rest a.s.sured that you will be among the first to hear them.”

”And what exactly does that mean?” the sergeant asked.

”What it says,” the detective replied. ”Not a word more; not a word less.”

”If you think you can go poking your nose into our affairs, sir, without so much as a by-your-leave-”

”If Mr. Helms believes that, Sergeant, he's b.l.o.o.d.y well right,” Dr. Walton broke in. ”He-and I-are in your hole of a town, in your hole of a country, at the express invitation of Inspector La Strada. Without it, believe me, we should never have come. But we will thank you not to interfere with our performing our duties in the manner we see fit. Good day.”

Sergeant Karpinski's countenance was eloquent of discontent. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then, shaking his head, walked off with whatever answer he might have given still suppressed.

”Pigheaded Polack,” Walton muttered.

”You did not endear yourself to him,” Helms said. ”The unvarnished truth is seldom palatable-though I doubt whether any varnish would have made your comments appetizing.”

”Too bad,” the good doctor said, and, if an intensifying participle found its way into his diction, it need not be recorded here.

”I wonder what La Strada will say when word of this gets back to him, as it surely will,” Helms remarked.